Bittersweet
by MoNk3yBuSiN3sS
Summary: She, herself, was an oxymoron. She contradicted herself constantly. Calm yet angry, bitter yet sweet, she was so like them, yet worlds apart. She seemed to be the perfect choice... but then why did he have such a bad feeling about her?


**Bittersweet: Chapter 1**

_Cravings_

* * *

The feet made no sound as they brushed gently against the white tiled floor, leaving behind a smeared crimson print in their shape.

"Freeze!" The guards looked puzzled; they lowered their guns, slightly. Was this the threat they were supposed to be protecting the world from?

The girl's upper body seemed limp with all the weight she carried. The shackles were still around her wrists and upper arms and the chains attached to the shackles had chunks of concrete attached to them from where she had wrenched them from the wall.

She seemed to be assessing the situation; she seemed to have heard them. Her foot moved forward and the men lifted their guns, causing her to pause again at the noise.

They didn't want to shoot her.

She was just a girl. A very fragile, tiny looking, girl, but according to her data, she was quite the opposite. She wouldn't have been held in such high security if she was just a fragile, tiny girl. And they'd told them she knew what she was; four years of being chained up with a mask over her face had given her lots of time to understand what she was; why she was there.

She took another step forward and they began to fire at her.

Moments later, the guards were on the ground. All of them dead. Blood stained the walls that had moments ago bounced their screams back to them in an endless echo.

Her feet began to move again; through the corridors they had dragged her down all those years ago. Then she paused when she heard a small whimper. Her head turned, and she began to walk towards the noise.

A guard who had survived was on the ground, one of his legs gone; he spotted her and froze as she began walking towards him.

The girl crouched down beside the guard, her arms winding around her legs, hugging them to her body. The metal mask over her face made it impossible to see whatever emotion she was feeling.

The man tried to crawl back, terrified of the girl, but found himself backed into a corner; his eyes were wide with fear, "Please…" he whispered, "Please don't kill me…"

The girl seemed to hesitate and her head tilted to the side, as if she was curious. She lifted her hand and grazed it along his cheek; he shuddered as her hand traced his face, moving down to his neck.

Moments later, a thick red substance leaked under the door. The girl stood and tilted her head back, seeming to be staring at the security camera, before reaching over and grabbing the guard's gun from his belt, staining his clothes with blood.

She stood back up and turned around to fully face the security camera, her head cocked to the side in a birdlike way, before she lifted the gun and fired.

Everything went black.

* * *

_5 Years Later…_

Moscow, Russia was covered in snow, the beautiful buildings ridged with snowflakes that sparkled brightly in the pale, afternoon sun. One boy stood out from the others on the street with his red hair. He only wore a white jacket in the cold weather and walked with his eyes closed, ignoring the stares and whispers of the other pedestrians.

"Hey, you punk! Get back here!"

An enraged voice broke through the crowds of people on the streets, disturbing the slight murmur of the crowds. A figure dashed around the corner and kept darting down the sidewalk. The boy opened his eyes and stared in wonder.

"Thief!"

The person sped up, not watching where they were going and tripped, falling towards the boy, dropping the black backpack they had in their hands as they toppled forward.

A gasp elicited from under the hood of the thief's sweatshirt as slender fingers gripped their shoulders and they stopped falling.

The thief looked up at the boy, the hood sliding away from the face.

The boy could do nothing but stare at the brown skin and chocolate eyes. Her bangs fell prettily in front of her face, but the rest of her dark hair disappeared in her sweatshirt.

He noticed a man running towards them and guessed he was the man who had been yelling, because his face was livid. He steadied her, whispering to her as he did so, "Just play along." His voice was strong and commanding, leaving no room for arguments.

The girl didn't like that. She glared at him, her eyes cold.

The manager finally caught up and he bent over, panting, "You… little… monster…" he grunted.

Crystalline eyes rolled towards the heavens, "Is there a problem here, sir? I'm sorry if my… friend here has caused you any trouble…"

The man straightened and then trained his eyes on the girl, she glared back at him, the chocolate irises darkening as she bared her teeth slightly and growled at him. The man's eyes narrowed and he turned his glare on the young man, "She pays, or I call the police."

The boy pulled money from his pocket and pressed it into the man's hand, "Satisfied?" he snapped before grabbing the girl's arm and stalking off.

He led her around the corner and she snatched her hand away from his immediately, "Just who the hell do you think you are?" people on the streets stared as they walked past, taking the argument for nothing more than a small lover's quarrel.

He glared at her, "I think I'm the guy who just saved your thieving ass."

For a moment they just glared at each other, nothing passing between them but the wind, the tension in the air around them getting thicker with each passing second, "Don't get too cocky, bastard," she barked, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

He eyed the bag and shot back, "Better a cocky bastard than a thieving bitch,"

She shrugged and turned away, not allowing him to see her face, "Perhaps you're right,"

Then she walked away, leaving the boy standing alone in the bitter Russian cold.

* * *

"You monster. Give me back my merchandise."

The manager restrained the girls' arms behind her back while his employees searched through her bag. She writhed in his grip, but tired quickly, not having enough energy to keep up the struggle.

She hissed as his hands reached around and pried her mouth open, feeling around for something, "Just as I thought!" he shouted in triumph, "Fangs… you're not human!"

The girl stopped struggling and became limp, her bangs covering her eyes, "It isn't my fault…" she whispered, a single tear slipping down her cheek.

She clenched her teeth and the tears kept coming, "IT ISN'T MY FAULT!"

There was a sickening noise.

Blood splattered everywhere. It dripped from the garbage cans in the alley, and filled the air with a sharp metallic smell.

She stood there for a moment, limbs limp. The girl slowly lifted her head, scaring the other two men as they found themselves staring into a very different pair of eyes than before. The brown had disappeared and the irises and pupils had narrowed and slit, much like a cat's and turned red, which contrasted strangely off of the now golden sclera.

She stared at the two men that were left, "People like you make me sick…" she licked the blood off of her hands, her eyes still focused on the two in front of her.

All of a sudden, she sprang and landed on one of the men, both of them crashing to the ground, his screams were silenced quickly, and soon, he wasn't moving at all.

She stood again and turned back to the remaining man, "Why so serious?" she pouted in mock concern.

He shook violently, "You're not normal! You're insane!"

"But alas," in seconds she was behind him, "normality is an illusion, my dear." Her bloodstained lips brushed his ear, "Sanity… even more so."

Still shaking he whirled around to face her and opened his mouth to yell, but found something cold and hard pressed into his mouth.

She pushed the gun back further, getting as much of it as she could down his throat, ignoring his gagging, "I simply can't leave you alive to tell the tale, now can I?" the hand that wasn't holding the gun brushed against his cheek. She could hear the blood rushing in his veins, his heart thumping in his chest and she closed her eyes in ecstasy, "Besides," her eyes opened again and a smirk appeared on her face, a single bloody fang glinting in the moonlight, "_I'm still hungry_…"

A gunshot rang out and cackled laughter followed.

Then silence.

* * *

Kai Hiwatari heard a gunshot.

He turned his head, cocking it to the side, in the direction of the noise. Then he heard the laughter, the cackling, and something drew him towards the maniacal sound.

He sniffed, picking up the metallic tang of blood. He began walking in the direction he'd heard the noise coming from. It was late, and the street lights shown eerily on him, making him look like a ghost with his pale skin and two tone hair.

He peered down an alley and narrowed his vermillion eyes at the gore he found there. He moved forward, slightly, eyes surveying the man closest to him. He had been beheaded, his head strewn carelessly across the alley; his body was covered in blood.

The second man he looked at was far worse. His head was barely intact, with the skin blown off from his nose down, his jaw bone hanging off of his face at an odd angle. His eyes had rolled back into his head and his arms and legs were gone, leaving bloody stumps behind.

Kai shook his head, noticing that there must've been another man there because of the extra body parts he saw lying here and there, most of them he could barely identify because they were maimed beyond repair.

Everything was covered in a thick, now slightly crusted, red substance. He couldn't see the dirt on the ground or the dirty metal of the garbage cans and the brick walls on either side of him were also covered in blood.

Something moved deeper into the alley, but when he looked directly at it, it disappeared, leaving Kai puzzled.

Kai looked around again, but this time, something stopped him. He froze, staring. For there on the wall, written with the blood was one simple word:

_**Satiated**_

The word in itself hadn't worried Kai, it was the fact that ten seconds ago, the writing hadn't been there at all.

* * *

_A giant white wolf sat in the snow, its eyes glowing._

_Pale fingers reached out for it, but seemed to be ignored as the wolf stood to its paws and trotted off into the forest. He seemed to be watching his body, not in control of it, as he stood and followed the white wolf through the snowy forest._

"_Wolborg..." the boy called, receiving no answer, he kept moving and all of a sudden, there was a patch of green grass and it seemed like a trail. Whenever a snowflake touched the green, it'd melt immediately._

_He got on his knees and touched a scorched patch of green grass that was in the shape of a paw. A very large paw. __He stood and__ followed the trail of paw prints deeper into the forest and as he moved, he noticed that on either side of the trail was an item of some kind._

_The first thing he noticed was a strange, multicolored beyblade, then he saw a pile of bloodied, rusted chains, then a pile of dead bodies, and then a metal mask. He kept following the trail and it seemed as if the items were telling a story; someone's past. Soon, the decapitated bodies became to gruesome for him to look at, so he kept his eyes ahead, but then something caught his eye once more. They were a pair of cobalt blue gems, but the gems seemed to have a cold aura about them, as if he'd be hurt by touching them._

_The boy felt compelled to look up, and there at the end of the trail was a large cat with sandy brown fur and darker brown spots littered over the pelt, it lay at the foot of five large trees, every paw stained red with blood, its claws permanently unsheathed, so it could protect itself._

_The cat looked at him. Its eyes were chocolate brown, and scared, then the flashed and became golden with red irises and they narrowed as the cat roared, fangs bloodied, then it glared at him, its lips curled._

_The brown eyes appeared again and the cat's face relaxed, then contorted into pain, fear and sadness, it pleaded, "Help... me... p-please..."_

_He reached out for it..._

The boy's body jerked as he awoke from his dream, sitting up in bed. He looked around, eyes wide. Every detail of that dream was so vivid. He could still feel the cold stinging his cheeks and how the black, charred grass crumbled at the slightest touch and how deep those brown eyes were.

Usually, he couldn't remember his dreams when he woke up. Pale fingers tugged on the handle of the dresser drawer, he fumbled through the junk until he found a small case, he snatched it up and, hands shaking with impatience, he flipped the cap off.

He slowed down as the beyblade was revealed. He brushed his fingers over the bit-chip, "Wolborg..." the word left his lips in a small whisper. He felt as if he was supposed to know the cat's eyes, both pair.

The redhead flopped back onto his pillow and then looked at the neon green numbers flashing on his clock.

3:18 am.

He sighed and held his beyblade above him, "What the hell was that all about?"

There was only silence.

Sliding the beyblade back into the case, he set the cube shaped container on his dresser, next to the clock, then rolled back over. A yawn ripped from his throat and he pulled the covers back over his bare shoulders, letting his cobalt blue eyes slide shut once more.

* * *

Things had been blocked off. Police were scanning every back alley, every nook and cranny for any clues at all. The murders that had been committed last night had everyone on edge. She couldn't go anywhere, or do anything; she could only hide, avoiding police questionings, and investigations.

She scaled the back of an abandoned warehouse, eyes trained on the wall. She tapped at the bricks, like she was knocking on a door.

They sounded loose.

Moments later, there was a hole in the bricks and she stepped through.

Her ears picked up a whirring noise. It was small and quiet, but her ears still managed to pick up the sound. She didn't bother worrying about what she might find.

She peeked around the corner and found herself staring at a boy.

He was concentrating on something that was spinning in front of him. Her eyes narrowed when she recognized it as a beyblade.

She watched him for a moment, intending on leaving, unnoticed, but her plan failed when she kicked a brick with her foot and his cobalt eyes turned to her.

"You…" he breathed, calling his beyblade back to his hand. She blinked, and took a step back, stumbling slightly.

"The hell?" she took a deep breath, "Why's it always you?" She placed a hand on her forehead, not enjoying the feeling that pulsed through her body when she tried to move, she felt nauseous and dizzy. Everything seemed to be spinning around her and she couldn't find her footing.

She coughed violently into her hand and her eyes widened when she pulled it back and saw blood there, "Not… now…" she moaned as her eyes went blank and she finally fell. Hands caught her before she hit the ground.

The boy lowered her gently to the floor and studied her. He wiped the blood on her lip off with his thumb, his hand lingered there for a moment before he pulled it away. He picked up her backpack and slung one strap on his shoulder, before lifting her bridal style.

It was getting dark and he was wondering about where he would leave her, or if he should really even leave her. He had no idea where she lived, much less if she even had a home.

He mulled the options over in his head. Leaving her would be cruel and as cold as he was, he still had a heart, but it did look like she'd been living on the streets, however, she was unconscious.

He decided to take her with him.

* * *

The boy leaned against the doorframe, watching his guest, who was currently napping on his couch.

She'd been sleeping for a while now, tossing and turning as if a nightmare was playing behind the closed lids.

_Anything yet, Wolborg?_

**Nothing. Absolutely, positively nothing. An aura protects her, it hovers over her. She's a blader, a seriously strong one.**

_How can you tell?_

**I've never seen or felt anything like this before. It took me a while to see, but the aura takes the shape of a lion, and whenever I get anywhere near the girl's mind, the bit-beast burns me, it's like a firewall; a shield. Even Dranzer's fire calms down outside of the beydish, but… these flames won't let up, not for anything.**

Her body jerked and the brown eyes shot open, they darted around the room and finally landed on her caretaker. She glared into his unseeing gaze and hissed.

He broke out of his trance at the noise, cutting his bit-beast off and muttered something to himself before he disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a bowl of what looked like soup. He handed it to her, "Eat."

Once again he used that commanding voice, and she opened her mouth to protest, only to freeze in the middle of her jibe when her stomach rumbled. The boy raised an eyebrow at her, and, embarrassed, she snatched the bowl from his hands. She didn't even bother checking to see if it was poisoned or not, she just started eating, not paying the boy any attention.

He disappeared once more.

The girl held her bowl, staring at her reflection in the murky, brown liquid. Her eyes narrowed and she glared hatefully into the soup, her brown eyes blazing. With a slight growl, she picked up her bowl and drank the rest of her meal, ignoring the spoon the boy had provided. She set the empty bowl on the lamp stand next to the couch she was seated on.

The redheaded boy reappeared and tossed her a black bag, "That's yours."

She nodded, beginning to rummage through it for a moment. The boy's interest heightened when she pulled out a beyblade.

And a beautiful one it was at that. It was gold around the edges and turned orange towards the middle, then went crimson around the bit-chip in the center, the bottom was crimson and slowly turned to orange near the middle, then the top was gold and it glowed in her fingers, as if it responded to her touch. On the crimson around the bit-chip were the words 'Sekhmet FV', written in curvy, golden letters, on the opposite side of the word, still in the crimson, was something he made out as hieroglyphics, but he couldn't understand what it said. The Beyblade glowed when she brushed her fingers over it, as if it was excited to feel her touch. He focused on it, keeping his eyes on the cat in the center; its jaws were open, fangs bared in a silent roar of defiance.

That must've been what Wolborg was talking about. Her bit-beast was protecting her.

"…What's your name, girl?" he narrowed his cold eyes.

She turned to him and hesitated, "…Katya." Her voice was calm, but her eyes were questioning, as if she was waiting for something.

"Tala Valkov."

She watched him as he stood and walked out of the sitting area. With a grunt, she turned back to her 'blade, making sure no damage had been since she hadn't checked on it in about a week, but it was still clean and sparkling.

She yawned again, before sliding the beyblade back into her bag and then scoping the room once more.

Katya stood and stretched her body, her brown eyes slightly drooping, but she had convinced herself to do some snooping before she left.

She was light on her feet, making sure to make no noise while she moved over to the television set, she swept the top of the television with a finger and snorted when she found it surprisingly clean, but what got her attention, was the framed photo sitting in front of her. She picked it up.

In the photo, were five boys. One, she recognized as Tala, he stood in the middle, a blank look on his face, one of his hands resting on the gun holster on his hip and the other just hanging there, next to him was a gray haired boy, his moonlight eyes were narrowed, his arms crossed and a scowl on his face and on the other side of Tala was a boy with two-toned blue hair, his arms were crossed over his chest and his eyes were closed. She traced her fingers over the silky looking, white scarf around his neck and then her eyes moved to the other boy in the picture. He was taller than the others and he had blonde hair; his hands were placed firmly on his hips. Last in the picture was a boy who was shorter than everyone else, he was standing next to the blonde, a very large gun in his hands, he had indigo hair and magenta eyes, or maybe they were a bit darker.

She ran her fingers over the picture once more before her ears alerted her to almost soundless footsteps.

Keyword being almost.

She put the picture back on top of the TV and sat back down near her backpack right before Tala entered the room, "If you're going to sneak around, then you need to attempt to be lighter on your feet."

Tala stared at her, it seemed as if her eyes hadn't left the moving pictures on the screen the entire time, yet she'd heard his footsteps, when he couldn't hear them himself.

She turned to him and her eyes had taken on a strange, blank look, like she had been hypnotized only moments before.

He shifted on his feet, looking at her, studying her. There was something so strange about her, like she knew something he didn't. Something fierce.

She turned and looked at him again, but she wasn't looking at him, more like she was looking through him, then her eyes met his.

Tala decided that whoever had first said a person's eyes were the window to their soul was right. He could see the guilt, the hurt, anger, the scorn all in one simple look. She was cold, but she was letting a few emotions slip through the barrier.

She stood to her feet and grabbed her bag.

He wordlessly led her to the door and opened it; she walked out, but then, turned and looked at him, her eyes searching his, before shaking her head and walking away.

Tala shut the door behind her and put his back against it. He slid to the floor, holding his head in his hands and shook his head to clear the image of those brown eyes.

But they wouldn't go. The image persisted in his mind, although, she was no longer there with him. There was something about her that drew his mind to her image. She was a total mystery and he found himself wondering what could have happened to her that made her eyes so cold and angry.

Her bit-beast was strong enough to hold Wolborg at bay for possibly hours or more. What could she possibly do to his wolf in a real battle?

And her eyes were enchanting. They were deep, despite the anger they held, there was something deeper down. When she had looked into his eyes and he'd stared back, among the rapidly dying embers, he saw a spark, a tiny flame. She had given up on the world, but some fire, something in her, wasn't quite ready to give up hope yet. Katya was still hoping, somewhere, somehow.

He thought about the brown color they'd taken on; the striking resemblance to chocolate was uncanny. Chocolate was the word he'd use to describe her. She was bittersweet. Pretty to look at. You enjoy the colorful wrappers and advertisements then when you unwrap it, it's just as interesting as the wrapper with a startling smooth cover up. It looks sweet, but when you actually bite into it you can taste the bitter and the sweetness. It mystifies you because the two contrasting flavors seem to leave you with a strange aftertaste that always leaves you craving more.


End file.
